It wasn’t that either. Something very important, perhaps dangerous, was happening, and he had not been able to talk to her about it. After all these years she knew him well enough to tell when he was concealing something. Overnight, maybe a few days, he had said, then turned away and switched on the television. It was much more than that, she knew, and the knowledge was keeping her awake. She had dozed off, woken up with a start, and been unable to sleep again after that. Too tired to read, she was too tense to sleep as well, and just tossed and punched her pillow until dawn. Then she gave up. After filling the electric percolator she went and took a shower.
Sipping at the too-hot coffee she tried to find some news on the radio, but there was nothing. Switching to the short wave band she ran through an incomprehensible lecture in some guttural language, flipped past some Arabic minor key music, and finally found the news on the BBC World Service. There was a report on the continuing stalemate in the Southeast Asia talks, and she poured more coffee—almost dropping the cup when she heard Copenhagen.
“…incomplete reports, although no official statements have been made at this time. However eyewitness observers say that the city is filled with troops, and there is a great deal of activity along the waterfront. Unofficial reports link the Nils Bohr Institute, and speculation is rife that further tests of the so-called Daleth drive may now be in progress.”
She turned the volume all the way up so she could hear it while she was dressing. What was happening? And, more important, the question she tried to avoid all the time now, how dangerous was it? Since the spies had been killed and Arnie had been hurt she was in continual anticipation of something even worse happening.
Fully dressed, with her gloves on and her car keys already out, she stopped at the doorway. Where was she going and what was she doing? This almost hysterical rushing about suddenly struck her as being foolish in the extreme. It couldn’t help Nils in any way. Dropping into a chair in the hall she fought back the strong impulse to burst into tears. The radio still boomed.
“…and a report just in indicates that the experimental ship, often referred to as a hovercraft, is no longer at the shipyards in Elsinore. It can be speculated that there is some connection between this and the earlier events in Copenhagen…”
Martha slammed the door behind her and opened the garage. There was nothing she could do, she knew that, but she did not have to stay at home. Speeding south on Strandvejen—the road was almost deserted at this hour—she felt that she was somehow doing the right thing.
It did not seem that clear once she reached Copenhagen, a maze of closed streets and soldiers with slung rifles. They were very polite, but they would not let her through. Nevertheless she kept trying, probing around the area in the growing traffic, discovering that a great ring seemed to be thrown around the Free Port area. Once ae realized this, she swung wide, through the narrow streets, and headed for the waterfront again on the other side of Kastellet, the five-sided moated castle that ormed the southern flank of the harbor. A block from the waterfront she found a place and parked the car. People passed her on foot, and she could see more of them ahead near the water’s edge.
The wind from the Sound pulled the heat from her body, and there was no way to hide from it. More and iiore people arrived, and the air was alive with rumors as everyone searched the Oresund before them for sign of any unusual activity. Some of the spectators had brought radios, but there were no news reports that mentioned the mysterious events in the Frihavn.
One hour passed, and a second, and Martha began to wonder what she was doing here. She was chilled to the bone. The radios blared, and a sudden chorus of shushing went up from the groups around these radios. Martha tried to get closer, but could not. But she could still make out the gist of the Danish announcement.
The Galathea… an official launching… ceremony… Amalienborg Palace in the afternoon… There was more, but that was enough. Tired and chilled, she turned to go back to the car. She was certain to be invited to anything public, official. They were probably trying to call her now. Better nap first, then call UUa Rasmussen to find out what they would be wearing.
A man stood before her, blocking her way.
“You’re up early, Martha,” Bob Baxter said. “This must be an important day for you.” He smiled when he said it,, but neither the words nor the smile were real. This was no coincidence, she realized.
“You followed me here. You have been watching my home!”
“The street’s no place to talk—and you look cold. Why don’t we go into this restaurant here? Get some coffee, a bite of breakfast.”
“Fm going home,” she said, starting around him. He blocked her with his arm.
“You didn’t keep that appointment with me. Passpc matters can be serious. Now—what do you say we keep this unofficial and sit down for a cup of coffee together Can’t be anything wrong with that?”
“No.” She was suddenly very tired. There was no poin in irritating the man. A hot cup of coffee would taste gocn right now. She allowed him to take her arm and open th door of the café.
They sat by the window, with a view of the Sound over the roofs of the parked cars. The heat felt good, and she kept her coat on. He draped his over the back of the chain and ordered coffee from the waitress, who understood his English. He did not speak again until she brought the coffee and was out of earshot.
“You have been thinking about what I asked you,” Baxter said, without any preamble. She looked into the coffee cup when she answered.
“To tell the truth, no. There’s nothing, really, that I can do to help you.”
“I’m the best judge of that. But you would like to help, wouldn’t you, Martha?”
“I would like to, of course, but…”
“Now that is much more reasonable.” She felt trapped by her words: a generalization suddenly turned into a specific promise. “There are no ‘buts’ to it. And nothing very hard or different for you to do. You have been friendly with Professor Rasmussen’s wife, Ulla, lately. Continue that friendship.”
“You have been watching me, haven’t you?”
He brushed the question aside with his hand as not worth answering. “And you know Arnie Klein as well. He’s been to your home a few times. Get to know him better too. He’s a key man in this business.”
“Do you want me to sleep with him too?” she asked, in a sudden surge of anger at herself, this man, the things that were happening. He did not get angry at her, though his face drew up in stern, disapproving lines.
“People have done a lot worse for their country. People have died for our country. I’ve devoted my life to this rk and I have seen them die. So,please keep your dirty ^e Mata Hari jokes to yourself. Or do you want to make ›kes about the boys who got tortured and killed fighting le Japs, Koreans, Charley, all of them? Died making the rorld safe so you could be a free American and live where )u like and do what you like. Free. You do believe in ^merica, don’t you?” He brought the challenge out like an oath, laid down on le table between them, waiting to be picked up and sworn.
“Of course,” she finally said, “but…”
“There are no huts in loyalty. Like honor it is indivisible. You know that your country needs you and you make i free choice. There is no need to take your passport away ›r coerce you in the many possible ways—”
No? she thought, nastily. Then why mention it at all?
“…since you are an intelligent woman. You will do nothing dishonorable, I can guarantee that. You will help to right a wrong.”
His voice was drowned out as a flight of jet planes tore by low overhead, and he turned his head quickly to look at them. He pointed after them, with a brief, twisted smile.